The Big Boy
Outside Mark's office window was a belly -- a very round soft jiggling belly. The belly belonged to a young man. The young man was clearing ivy and debris from the bank of the hill that grew away from Mark's window up to the parking lot. The young man was wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt, but he might as well have been wearing nothing; Mark could admire every curve, every flabby inch of his rotund form under the skin-tight clothes. The boy was squeezed into them like a sausage, and was overflowing them like rising dough. He was a tallish blond kid, handsome -- but appeared to be in very "bad shape." He bulged in every conceivable direction, under the shirt -- stomach hanging to the fore spilling like an avalanche toward his knees, enormous shelves of flesh protruding to the sides of his belly, flesh all around his middle covering the top several inches of his pants. He had tits -- round, soft, pointed, alive. They bounced on top of his mammoth gut like water balloons, as the boy moved up and down the hillside clearing the underbrush.
The boy moved very close to Mark's window again, and began to occupy himself with a clump of ivy at the base of the hill. Mark was no more than two feet from this luscious mammoth pile of meat. He wished for one-way glass in the window, so he could beat off in front of this vision without being seen. He turned his chair around to face the boy. He started to rub his crotch lightly -- perhaps it wouldn't be obvious, if the boy looked straight at him. The boy turned his back on him, at this point -- and turned on him the widest, roundest pair of buns Mark had ever seen. The boy's jeans were worn almost transparent from the pressure of those massive mounds. Each thigh and hip wore a huge pouch of fleshy baggage, and over it all the vast blanket of "spare tire" rode, wobbling.
Mark could barely contain himself. He glanced back to be sure his office door was closed, then turned to look again at the fat young man and his quivering ass. But the boy had turned to face Mark again. And...he was taking off...he was actually taking off his shirt. And wiping his face with it. His torso glistened massively, sweat beading all over its soft rolling expanse. Mark could see the boy's fat collect in folds, rippling and sliding in the places where breast meat became belly-fat, belly-fat surged over the lip of his blue jeans, all of it hanging hugely, round and wobbling like the softest baby's bottom.
And then the boy remained standing shirtless, stomach heaving from exertion, mouth hanging open slightly -- and stared straight back at Mark. Mark snatched his hand away from his crotch immediately. The boy peered, then smiled. He stood still, as if catching his breath, then wiped his thigh with the sweaty shirt. His hands lingered in the area of his own cock. He seemed to thrust his belly out, as if relaxing the muscles of his abdomen...seeming to grow fatter as Mark watched. The boy was still smiling, and now was rubbing his crotch. Then he looked to the right and to the left, then back at Mark, apparently miming the thought "I can't do this out here in the open." The boy pointed at Mark and mimed masturbation.
So Mark pulled out his cock, and while this magnificent fat boy stood inches away beyond the glass, brought himself off in his office chair.
When he was finished, he went up to the window and motioned the young man to come closer. He put his watch up against the window, tapping the number 12 at the top of the dial. He pointed behind the boy, toward the parking lot. Not much more than an hour to go, he thought. The boy nodded agreement, and waved toward the south end of the parking lot, several times -- go all the way to that end, he was indicating.
Mark returned to his work, and the fat young man rolled off to another part of the hill. But several times in the next hour, he passed by Mark's window again, patting his gut, making it shake...Mark's heart beat faster as noon approached.
At five minutes to twelve, he put on his coat and headed toward the extreme south end of the parking lot, near a construction site for an expansion of the office park. Few of his employees parked here, because it was too dusty. He didn't see the young worker at first, and walked around behind a wall -- and there he was, again shirtless, wiping the sweat off his astounding fleshy body with paper towels wet from a nearby faucet. He gleamed; tanned and shining and soft, his folds of fat in constant trembling motion from his vigorous "bath." Mark spoke first.
"I think you could use some lunch. I'll buy. Burgers OK?"
"Sure," the young man said shyly.
"Wait here a minute, I'll bring my car over. Just one minute."
The boy's face darkened, them set impassively. "OK, I'll wait a minute."
He doesn't think I'm coming back, Mark thought. Does he have any idea how appallingly gorgeous he is?
In the car on the way to McDonald's, Mark introduced himself. The boy told him his name was Doug, and he was working for his stepfather's gardening business. He hated it -- he was "way out of shape," and wasn't used to all the stooping and digging and hacking. But his mother had bugged him to get a job, since he'd graduated high school in June and she said he'd need to save some money for college. He started in the fall at the local state university, a music major.
At the restaurant, Doug lunged for the counter and ordered two Big Macs, three cheeseburgers, two regular fries, a shake, and a diet coke (this last item was a sort of a joke, he explained later, between him and the girl at the counter). As Doug devoured his lunch, and Mark picked at his salad, they talked about themselves some more. Doug played the piano, and hoped to perform in college concerts -- he even hoped to do it professionally someday, but his teachers had always warned him he had to overcome a lazy streak. But he loved music, and spent most of the day at the piano (and eating, he added with a wicked grin). As soon as he'd finished his food, he stood up suddenly, and said "Well, I don't get too much time for lunch -- let's go to another place I know."
They drove back behind the hill on which Mark's office building stood, to a wooded area known as the local "lover's lane." Doug led Mark to a secluded spot. He stripped naked, with surprising speed for someone so big. "I guess you like all of this," he said, and drew Mark closer to him. "Put your hand here" he said, and placed Mark's hand on the side of his stomach, where his fat was soft and malleable.
Mark's first touch on the fat boy's body was like an electric shock to him -- sensations of every soft, doughy, moist, yielding thing he'd ever felt or seen flooded him. Mark knelt in front of Doug's belly. He grabbed huge handfuls of flesh, rolling it between his fingers, pushing it back in on itself, molding it like soft clay. He pulled up the great apron of flab hanging around the middle, lifted it and dropped it, over and over, and buried his face in it while it was still jiggling. He bit into the boy's side, working over mouthfuls of soft yielding fat.
Mark took his clothes off and folded them neatly on the grass. Doug ran up and tackled him, and rolled him over and over down the slope. The boy's enormous weight on top of him -- all over him, enclosing him like pillows -- aroused Mark fully erect. His cock was sticking into the crevice between Doug's belly-fat and the bulge above his crotch. Mark had never felt anything so...pussy-like, he had to say, comparing it to the times he'd been with women. He started to fuck the boy's belly, here and there, finding it everywhere penetrable for several inches. The soft fat carressed Mark's dick like lips, slick now with sweat. He found the deep cleft of Doug's belly button, and rammed his cock in harder. Doug rolled over hugely, and Mark noticed the boy's mammoth tits -- and had to fuck them right away. He grabbed them and molded them around his cock, forming a tight slick hole. He plunged in and out, while perched on Doug's belly-mound, riding gently as if on a boat as the waves of fat rocked with him.
Mark knew there wasn't much more time left before the young man had to go back to work -- but he had to get a look at that big fat ass. He sprang off of Doug's stomach, and told him to stand up facing away from him. There in front of Mark was an expanse of meat like none he'd ever seen. From the boy's shoulders he billowed outward to the waist, and out even further below it -- the buttocks were round, smooth with a light dusting of blond hair, pinkish-brown and ... as soft as a baby's, Mark had to say again. The boy's ass seemed to tremble in the wind, fold on fold, hanging and bulging nearly four feet across...Mark had jammed his dick into Doug's crack right away, and though he had a bigger-than average tool, he had to shove brutally against the boy to find his asshole. Inches of soft fat surrounded his cock, carressing...Mark slammed into the boy's cushioned backside again and again, trying to work in deeper before he -- oh god, he had grabbed hold of a hunk of flesh at the boy's side, and he couldn't control it any longer...he came messily in and over the massive butt, kneading Doug's fat between his fingers, reaching around for a handful of breast meat...
In the car on the way back to the office, Mark asked Doug -- "if you don't mind" -- how he got to be so fat. Doug told him this story:
"When I was fourteen, I had a piano teacher, an old lady who was a little eccentric, but she was good. She believed in rewarding and punishing -- and if you did things her way, she gave you cookies and little cakes and ice cream, right there at the piano. She'd feed you with her own hands. I thought it was a little weird, but I improved -- and she gave me rewards more and more, I kind of got to liking it. I was kind of chubby, I guess I weighed around 130, 140 -- at that big-tit stage, you know how guys get at that age, I was kind of self-conscious but not really fat -- anyway, after about a year with this teacher I had put on some weight -- I don't know how much, but you could tell I had put it on, I'd started on this gut and everything, and I remember the gym teacher at school bawling me out and making me run extra laps and stuff. So I got to where I kind of liked it, liked being fat, getting fatter, being fed, getting kidded about it. I remember when it was really hot in the summer I'd go around without a shirt -- the skinny guys could do it, why can't I, so I did. I found out -- I could go around like almost naked, after I put on this weight, and I'd get a bone -- I could almost come just by rubbing my legs up against it, like sitting in the park with my stomach hanging all out and I'd rub myself -- right here -- where it's all soft, like...you know what it's like.
"So anyway, I got to where I could make myself eat lots and lots -- I already did, but I just piled it on, whenever I ate anything I just ate twice as much. I'd hang out at the Burger King and whatever, Wendy's and Pizza Hut and the mall, just eating all day sometimes. So each summer in high school, I'd get -- a whole lot, I mean really massively -- just bigger and fatter. And so when I went back to school everybody went "OOOoohh, you're all fat Doug, you pig" and that was cool, especially when the guys said it. They'd even slap my gut, it's like when you get really fat you're public property and anyone can touch you. In gym we'd play "shirts and skins" in basketball and I like to be "skins" and -- I don't know, like make everybody look. That was it -- I wanted them to see me, see my stomach, see my big fat ass.
"So to make a long story -- so last year I'm over 350, way over, and they send me to this fat kids camp -- you know. And I come back fatter. No, I swear to god, it's true, I just went on strike, and the counselors don't give a shit because they've already got the money, and maybe your folks will send you back again the next year, you know? So I gained 50 pounds at Diet Ranch. This summer I just like pigged out until I couldn't see straight -- I can boost a pound a day, no sweat. 520 pounds last time I looked -- it doesn't matter if I weigh myself, the scale just goes "Tilt" and says "you're really, really fat."
Last Modified: 9-Jan-03